Page 4 of The Duke of Ruin
He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, and since it wasn’t due to a potential scandal, it had to be her father. “You should go. Anywhere. I’ll be waiting for you at midnight at the intersection of Curzon Street and Bolton Street.” He touched her hand. “I’ll wait all night long.”
She jerked back, her gaze flicking to the maid, who was still watching them. “I have to go.”
He took a step back. “I hope to see you later.”
She turned and hurried to her maid, said a few words, and then they left the park.
Simon exhaled, realizing he’d held his breath while he’d watched her depart. What if she didn’t meet him? Would he simply return home in the morning and go about his business?
He couldn’t. Not knowing what she would be going through if she decided to stay and tell her father that she didn’t want to marry Nick.
Goddammit, Nick had made an utter disaster of things. Simon wanted to punch him, and yet he wanted to hug him at the same time. He understood the depths of the despair that had propelled him to agree to marry Miss Kingman. Simon knew what it felt like to suffer unimaginable loss. But for him, it was even worse because, for all he knew, he’d caused that loss.
Miriam’s face, framed by her thick, honey-blonde hair, rose in his mind. He saw her lips curve into a smile and heard the musical lilt of her laugh. The hole within him was still deep, but at least it had stopped expanding. He could think of her without doubling over, without an overwhelming rush of grief. He’d reclaimed his life, such as it was.
The guilt, however, was still there. And it always would be. She’d been carrying his child when she’d fallen down the stairs to her death, and Simon was certainly to blame.
However did one recover from that?
The butler helped removeDiana’s cloak after she entered the house. She was grateful to be rid of the heavy woolen garment. Though the day was cold, she was quite heated from her walk. And from agitation. Her meeting with the Duke of Romsey had been thoroughly vexing.
Diana told her maid that she’d been talking to her friend Abigail’s brother Theodore because he was worried about Abigail, who’d developed a tendre for an inappropriate gentleman. Diana said she’d promised to dissuade Abigail from pursuing a courtship.
Relatively confident the maid had accepted her story, Diana felt slightly better. But only slightly. Her entire life was in a shambles. Because of love.
What a useless, irritating emotion. It supposedly brought people joy, but Diana didn’t see it. In her experience, misery was far more likely. Even with the case of her fiancé—former fiancé—he and Violet had apparently suffered years apart.
Though she’d no desire to pursue love for herself, Diana wouldn’t begrudge others if they wanted to expose themselves to such vulnerability. She hoped they would be happy together. They’d better be after all this trouble.
Crossing the entry hall, Diana pulled her gloves off and reached for the ribbon of her bonnet. Her mother came in from the drawing room. “How was your walk, dear? Come and sit with me so we can discuss the wedding.”
Even when the wedding was going to happen, Diana hadn’t been enthusiastic about it. She’d asked him to marry her so that she could get out from under her father’s roof. The Duke of Kilve had seemed as though he was looking for a solution to something too, so she’d proposed that they wed. Now it appeared he’d been running away from Violet. But why? That was a question she’d likely never have answered. His business was none of hers any longer.
Diana forced a smile. “Can we talk later? The cold air gave me a touch of a headache, and I’d like to lie down.”
“Pathetic.” The dark, bitter word darted around the entry hall like a weapon, which, of course, it was. Everything her father said was intended to hurt or manipulate or destroy. “When your mother asks you to do something, particularly to do with this wedding, you’ll do it.” He came from behind Diana, likely from his office, which was in that corner of the town house. He could overhear just about anything that occurred in the hall.
“It’s all right,” her mother said feebly. “We can talk later.”
Diana knew her father wouldn’t accept that, but before she could acquiesce and save both herself and her mother grief, he said, “She’ll do it now. The demands of a duchess will be constant. She needs to learn that her own needs don’t come first.”
Diana bit back a hollow laugh. She’d never been allowed her own needs.
“If she can’t be bothered to plan her own wedding—or be enthusiastic about it—perhaps she has no business being a duchess.” He glowered down at her from his nearly six feet, his dark brown eyes raging.
She turned her head away from him. “Then maybe I shouldn’t be a duchess,” she muttered, especially since she wasn’t going to be.
He grabbed her arm, his fingers pressing ruthlessly into her flesh through the sleeve of her gown. “What did you say, chit? Perhaps a visit to a nice dark closet would help your headache improve.”
“N—” She bit her tongue until it bled. “No. Thank you. I find I’m eager to discuss the wedding plans.” She turned to her mother. “In fact, I had a few thoughts about the flowers.”
Her father released her arm and straightened his coat. “Excellent. I’ll leave you two to manage things.” The fire was gone from his gaze, and it was moments like these that made Diana wonder if she were mad, if the man who’d threatened her actually existed. Especially given what he did next. He smiled at her, warmth lighting his eyes. “Youwillbe an excellent duchess. We’ve worked so hard. You’ll make us all proud.”
After he returned to his office, Diana heard her mother’s exhalation. “That was unwise, Diana,” she whispered.
Diana knew it, but sometimes the words just tumbled from her mouth. Weariness pulled at her frame. “What did you wish to discuss, Mother?”
“Just the breakfast menu. It won’t take but a moment.” She turned and went into the drawing room and didn’t stop until she’d reached the desk in the corner, where she picked up a sheaf of paper, then retraced her steps.
